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RICHMOND SCENES IN ’62.

the only ones of the twenty-four endurable in point of temperature, and ashower-bath the only form of diversion we had time or thought to indulge in,to go out-of-doors was sometimes worse than remaining in our wards. But onenight after several of us had been walking about town in a state of pantingexhaustion, palm-leaf fans in hand, a friend persuaded us to ascend to the smallplatform on the summit of the Capitol , in search of fresher air. To reach itwas like going through a vapor-bath, but an hour amid the cool breezes abovethe tree-tops of the square was a thing of joy unspeakable.

Day by day we were called to our windows by the wailing dirge of a mili-tary band preceding a soldier’s funeral. One could not number those sadpageants: the coffin crowned with cap and sword and gloves, the riderlesshorse following with empty boots fixed in the stirrups of an army saddle;such soldiers as could be spared from the front marching after with armsreversed and crape-enfolded banners; the passers-by standing with bare, bentheads. Funerals less honored outwardly were continually occurring. Thenand thereafter the green hillsides of lovely Hollywood were frequently up-turned to find resting-places for the heroic dead. So much taxed for time andfor attendants were those who officiated that it was not unusual to performthe last rites for the departed at night. A solemn scene was that in the Julymoonlight, when, in the presence of the few who valued him most, we laid torest one of my own nearest kinsmen, of whom in the old service of the UnitedStates , as in that of the Confederacy, it was said, “He was a spotless knight.”

Spite of its melancholy uses, there was no more favorite walk in Richmondthan Hollywood , a picturesquely beautiful spot, where high hills sink intovelvet undulations, profusely shaded with holly, pine, and cedar, as well asby trees of deciduous foliage. In spring the banks of the stream that runsthrough the valley were enameled with wild flowers, and the thickets werefull of May-blossom and dogwood. Mounting to the summit of the bluff, onemay sit under the shade of some ample oak, to view the spires and roofs ofthe town, with the white colonnade of the distant Capitol . Richmond, thusseen beneath her verdant foliage “ upon hills, girdled by hills,” confirms whatan old writer felt called to exclaim about it, “ Verily, this city hath a pleasantseat.” On the right, below this point, flows the rushing yellow river, makingceaseless turmoil around islets of rock whose rifts are full of birch and wil-low, or leaping impetuously over the bowlders of granite that strew its bed.Old-time Richmond folk used to say that the sound of their favorite James(or, to be exact, “ Jeems”) went with them into foreign countries, during nomatter how many years of absence, haunting them like a strain of sweetestmusic ; nor would they permit a suggestion of superiority in the flavor of anyother fluid to that of a draught of its amber waters. So blent with my ownmemories of war is the voice of that tireless river, that I seem to hear it yet,over the tramp of rusty battalions, the short imperious stroke of the alarm-bell, the clash of passing bands, the gallop of eager horsemen, the roar ofbattle, the moan of hospitals, the stifled note of sorrow !

During all this time President Davis was a familiar and picturesque figureon the streets, walking through the Capitol square from his residence to the